


Long Long Day

by Invader_Sam



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invader_Sam/pseuds/Invader_Sam
Summary: An angel and a demon, tired beyond words, still manage to find plenty of them.~My take on what happened between the bus ride home post-aborted-Apocolypse and the Trial sequence. I've read dozens of wonderful interpretations but I couldn't help but take a stab at it myself.~Rated only for Crowley's language.





	Long Long Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was the song - this particular version, which I've had in the back of my brain since childhood - that inspired the title.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aFF2aHybLo

_It's been a long, long day_ **  
**I got some run-down shoes **  
**Ain't got no place to stay **  
**But any old place will be okay **  
** It's been a long, long day

 

The bus wasn't empty, but it might as well have been. Anthony J. Crowley was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world the moment his ass hit the plastic seat. He was tired. The kind of tired where your corporeal vessel assumes you could only possibly still be awake because there must be a saber-toothed tiger chasing you so it keeps pumping you full of adrenaline and sleep is impossible to come by. Forehead against the cool glass of the window, his own reflection blocking out whatever scenery the long road back to London had to offer, he shut his eyes.

In the seat beside him, Aziraphale seemed downright perky in comparison. To the outside observer, at any rate. To another, perhaps one who'd known him since The Beginning, there was a slight slope to his shoulders that gave away just how completely and utterly exhausted he was. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and one with which he was fighting a losing battle. Angels didn't need sleep – Ever Vigilant and all that – so why did his body suddenly feel so heavy? He let out an indignant huff that came out more like a sigh and let himself lean back against the seat, only for his shoulders to come into contact with the long arm that Crowley had draped across it.

The demon's eyes snapped open but he didn't move, but for his fingers twitching slightly as they dangled dangerously close to the angel's suit jacket. He desperately wanted to glance over, check the other's face for clue as to what exactly was happening, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, with heat crawling uninvited up his neck, he shifted, letting his arm come to rest more completely around the shoulders of his best and only friend.

Aziraphale's body stiffened, just for a moment, and he turned to look at Crowley. The demon's face was turned away, but his ears were nearly as red as his hair. Relaxing his posture, the angle moved just enough so his left knee brushed up against the leg Crowley had out of habit stretched far into 'his side' of the bench seat. “We...we did it,” he said quietly.

“Seems that way.”

“I suppose it's not, it's not really _over_ over, though.”

“Hmmm?”

“Well I just mean, well I know Gabriel was _very_ cross when he left and your er, compatriots aren't exactly the forgiving kind and–” He stopped abruptly as the hand on his shoulder gave a sudden squeeze.

“Angel, can we just...can't this keep 'til tomorrow?”

“O-oh, yes, I – of course. Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale reached out and gave the other's knee a reassuring pat, his hand lingering on the leather longer than he'd meant to before he put it back in his own lap.

The rest of the ride was spent in a silence that was neither quite comfortable nor uncomfortable and Aziraphale found himself both relieved and disheartened when the bus doors swung open in front of Crowley's flat. “Well. This is us then.”

The demon merely grunted, rubbing his shoulder as he stood and followed the other to the front of the bus. His fingers felt tingly, itchy, his whole body keyed up in a way he couldn't explain and was made all the worse as the angel insisted on making small talk with the bus driver while he doled out a handsome tip. “C'mon then,” he muttered, brushing past once they were both on the sidewalk, his long, purposeful strides leading them through the lobby to the lift.

As the doors closed and Crowley pushed the button for the top floor, Aziraphale let out a thoughtful little hum. “You know, I've never actually seen your flat before.”

Crowley stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Not much to see.”

The angel pursed his lips, looking up at the demon. The sunglasses were still on, his features set in a mask of impassivity, but the energy about him was different. Maybe it was exhaustion. He opened his mouth again but then the lift doors were opening and they were stepping out into Crowley's foyer, demon moving again with loping strides as if he were in a dreadful hurry to go nowhere at all.

It wasn't as if Crowley hadn't _wanted_ the angel to come to his home, per se. But a demon's lair was a private space, well-guarded, much like the demon himself. He'd made the invitation casually – or at least with the pretense of such – but now as the other ambled around as if he were in a museum, the pretense was getting harder to uphold.

“Your plants are stunning,” Aziraphale said, running a hand delicately along the leaf of a fiddle-leaf fig. “Truly beautiful.”

The redhead bristled. “Don't say that,” he grumbled. “You'll spoil 'em.”

“Hmm?”

“Tea?”

“Ah! Yes, thank you.”

The blonde followed him into the sparse, dark, modern kitchen and wondered idly if it had ever been used. It would certainly be the envy of many a Michelin Starred chef, but he couldn't help but think of his own tiny, cluttered kitchen in the flat above the bookshop and suddenly his chest felt tight. “Oh...”

“Hmm?” Crowley turned back from his so-far unsuccessful hunt for tea in his mostly-empty cabinets and his heart sank into his stomach. The angel was standing, one hand braced against the counter, the other up over his mouth, hazel eyes brimming.

“It's...it's really gone, isn't it?” he asked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Ah...” _'Shit. Shit shit shit shit–_ _'_ Crowley started forward, hands outstretched but stopped, pulled them back to his chest. The fuck was he supposed to say? “Y'know what I think?” His body began moving again, dipping down to open one of the cabinets on the island. His arm disappeared inside only to reappear a moment later with a bottle of Macallan clutched tightly in his fingers. “I think we deserve a drink, eh?”

Aziraphale glanced up, wetness shining on his cheeks, and then shook his head. “Oh, n-no, I don't think I feel much like–”

“Ahh, c'mon.” Crowley's smile was tight. “Just a li'l nip to take the egde off.” He popped the top off of the bottle, then leaned one elbow on the counter. “Cuz I dunno 'bout you,” he paused, putting $300-plus bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. “But I think this has been the longest fucking day I've ever lived.”

The angel's mouth twitched upwards and he reached for the bottle. “Think you might be right about that.” With a new, nervous sort of energy bubbling way down in his stomach, he also took a sip straight from the bottle. “I honestly can't believe we're still standing here.”

“You and me both.” Another swig and the taller celestial put the bottle down on the counter. “Sweet Satan, I'm beat.” With one long finger he began loosening the knot on his tie. “Why are we even still standing?”

Aziraphale cocked his head to one side. “How do you mean?”

“I mean...” Crowley kicked off one high heeled boot, then the other. He picked up the bottle and then slid, back against the cabinets, down to the black tile floor. Turning his gaze upward, he patted the spot next to him.

The blonde gave a little cluck of disapproval (sitting on the floor, really), before he carefully lowered himself down to sit beside his friend. A deep breath and he allowed his shoulders to relax. Unthinking, he reached out to take the bottle, their hands brushing as he did so and he watched as the demon's face shifted, just for a brief second. Eyes still on the redhead, he took another sip, let it burn all the way down, and then cleared his throat. “Is, um, is everything alright?”

“Course,” Crowley said too quickly, yanking the bottle back and taking an extra long gulp. “Why?”

“It's just that–” Aziraphale leaned in and Crowley automatically leaned back, turning his face away. “You don't seem quite your– Oh, for Heaven's sake.” Brow furrowed, he put a hand on the other's lapel, tugging him back so they were facing each other, moving to pull sunglasses from the pointed nose. “I can't really see you with these silly things–” His words caught in his throat. The demon's pupils, normally razor-thin, were blown as wide as he'd ever seen them. “Crowley...”

In response, the other snatched back the glasses, gripping them in a white-knuckled fist rather than replacing them on his face. “What?”

“You...” The angel fumbled for words, and as he did, he lost a bit of his concentration. His senses opened, and he sucked in a breath.

Early on in his posting, being surrounded by the humans had been overwhelming. The constant onslaught of their wide-ranging emotions – ice-cold shivers down his spine when they were frightened, searing heat when they were angry, effervescent tingling when they were mirthful – overtime he'd built up defenses against it. Made it manageable. More like background noise that he could tune out. But if he lost focus, the wall would crack and it would all come pouring in, as it did now.

A tidal wave of warmth crashed against his chest, familiar yet altogether new. He knew what love felt like. He'd witnessed countless examples over the course of his life – Antony and Cleopatra, Victoria and Albert, Chip and Joanna. Humans loved love, felt it all the time. For things, for animals, for children, for each other. It was always there, buzzing along beside him.

Beside him. Wait. His mind raced backwards. Yes, it was generally in the air around him, ebbing and flowing, but it had always spiked when he'd been with–

He let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You... you love me?”

“I don't!” Crowley spat, but it was hard for the words to sound anything less than hollow when he was certain even the doorman asleep at his post downstairs could hear his heartbeat thundering so fiercely.

But Aziraphale just kept on wearing that little surprised smile. He would've leaned in closer, but their thighs were already touching and so instead he put a hand down on the demon's leg, watched as his best friend went rigid. “You do.”

The redhead sputtered unintelligibly, wanting to run, to just burst into flames where he sat, but he was frozen, sweating and a whole host of other terribly human things he hated himself for. “S'what if I do?” he finally managed. “What's it matter? Huh?”

“Crowley.”

“Just another something you can lord over me–”

“Crowley.”

“And like you said, we'd probably explode or–”

“Anthony.”

He fell silent at that, jaw set, sunglasses rattling as the hand that held them shook.

“I love you as well.”

Eyes more black than golden, buzzing in his ears, the demon shook his head. “No you don't.”

“I do, in fact.”

The blessed, beautiful creature was smiling at him still and Crowley felt himself shrink back, shivering (not trembling, no of course not). “I...you...s'not the same, you lot are all peace and love and–”

Aziraphale gave the other's leg a squeeze and regretted it when the demon jumped as if stung. With a sad smile, he raised his hand up to touch the other's face. “I _am_ well-versed on the subject, yes,” he said gently. “So I think I can tell the difference between _philia_ and _eros_.” And then, because Crowley was still gaping at him as if he _must_ be mistaken, he closed the short distance between them to brush his lips against the other's.

The sunglasses clattered to the tile. Blindly, Crowley's hands fumbled until they found the angel's lapels and he latched on. Aziraphale's kiss had been light, soft, and maddeningly brief, and it had sent a shock-wave through him that had him single-mindedly wanting more. So when their lips parted but the angel didn't pull away, he dove in for another taste.

It was forceful, hungry, the way Aziraphale had always imagined it would be, and he let his head swim, reveling in the way his stomach was flip-flopping with each joining of their lips, each tiny, moaning sigh that slipped out of the demon when they parted. He brought his hand up from Crowley's jaw to his hair, running his fingers through what he'd thought would've been a sticky, gelled mess, but was nothing but soft. He let out a little hum of approval that was enough to get the demon to pull back slightly.

His pupils were still enormous and his face was flushed all the way up to his high cheekbones. “...what?” he asked.

“Oh, no, nothing, my dear.” Aziraphale let his hand settle on the back of Crowley's neck. “I was just wishing I'd done this back at the Blitz. It's quite nice, really.”

“Back at the...?” The redhead blinked, jaw slack. “You – you mean you – way back - _eighty years_ ago?”

“Well, maybe that's not accurate,” the angel conceded. “I, well I mean there was _something_ there that night, but I didn't know what it was, not really.”

Crowley let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sigh. “Fuck. I could've been snogging you _all that time?_ ”

“Hmm? Oh! You mean you...all the way back then too?”

“Bit further than that...” Crowley muttered.

“How, erm, how much further?”

Ears burning, the demon mumbled something unintelligible.

“Pardon?”

“Since the wall, you great git! Since the wall!” The redhead snapped, feeling as if his hair might actually start to singe with how hot his face felt.

Aziraphale sat back, blinking. “The wall – not _Eden_??”

In response, Crowley let out a growling moan, drew his knees up to his chest, folded his arms atop them and buried his face there.

The blonde folded his hands in his lap, gave another little thoughtful hum.

“...Can you not do that?” came Crowley's muffled, miserable voice from the tiny cave he'd made of his own limbs.

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked, not meaning to let the chuckle slip in with his words.

“ _That_.” The demon raised his head just enough to glare at the other. “S'not fucking funny.”

The angel's smile faltered. “Oh I...I'm sorry, my dear, it wasn't my intention to...it's all just a little ironic, that's all.”

“Only if by 'ironic' you mean that the Upstairs has been fucking with me for six-fucking- _thousand_ years,” Crowley groused, hiding his face again.

Aziraphale sighed, reaching across the other to take hold of the bottle of Scotch and indulge in another sip. It probably wouldn't do to remind him that everything was part of the Ineffable Plan, in no small part because he wasn't entirely sure such a plan even existed anymore. Instead, he merely scooted himself in a little closer, wrapped an arm around the demon's hunched shoulders, and placed a kiss atop the ginger head.

It was all Crowley could do to bite his tongue to muffle the sobs that had started to slip out uninvited, but he couldn't stop his shoulders from shaking, which only made the angel squeeze tighter, which in turn only made the lump in his throat that much bigger.

“Crowley...”

“Don't,” he managed, voice raspy and thick with emotion. “Just don't.”

So Aziraphale sat quietly, rubbed his best friend's back, and gave him a moment.

It was a strange place to be, on an unfamiliar kitchen floor at nearly two in the morning, well past when the world should've ended, with an expensive bottle of Scotch to his right and a crying demon to his left. What made it _most_ strange, however, was how much it felt like home. When twenty-four hours ago he'd been certain they'd never have a quiet moment like this again, this one here – however raw and imperfect it might have been – was a blessing. Of that he was sure.

He took another sip and let out a short little laugh. “I was such a disaster on the wall – was that what did it?”

Face still hidden, the demon made a sound like a laugh trying to get loose from a sob only to get caught halfway. “Probably. What was it about that night during the Blitz? I'd saved your worthless hide dozens of times before that.”

Aziraphale smiled, warmth filling his chest at the memory. “The books. I'd forgotten them in my miracle but you...somehow you knew I would, and you remembered for me.”

Crowley raised his head, tears still trickling down his now-incredulous face. “The _books??_ Seriously??”

The angel's cheeks went pink but his smile remained. “Well, _yes_. Saving me was, like you said, something you'd done before – many times. It was part of our Arrangement. But my books...saving them didn't gain you anything. Apart from, well, from making me happy.”

“Stop you from bitching and moaning you mean.” The demon let his chin rest atop his folded arms, sniffing in a way he'd meant to sound derisive but just sounded like he wasn't quite done crying yet (which was 100% accurate).

“Call it what you will...” Aziraphale leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on the other's temple, right on the snake tattoo. “I saw you in a different light that night. I only regret that I've always been too afraid to say anything about it until now.”

A fresh wave of tears crested in golden eyes. “Bloody stupid.”

“Yes, I suppose it was. But then again, I've spent the last 6000 years living in fear – of Upstairs, of Downstairs, of everything really. Being afraid of my own feelings was quite in character, I'd say.”

“I hated mine.”

“What?”

“My... _feelings_.” The word rolled off the demon's tongue like poison. “Hated 'em. For centuries. _Millennia._ Figured there had to be something wrong with me. Demons don't love, much less fall _in_ love. What the Hell, right?” He raised an arm to swipe at his wet face with his sleeve. “But maybe I was just afraid too.”

“Hate and fear go hand-in-hand, in my experience.” Aziraphale rubbed Crowley's back in small circles, keeping his eyes on his shoes. “But I've always thought...always _hoped_ that love was stronger. I think we saw some evidence of that today, don't you?”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe.”

The angel set the bottle down on the floor, brought his other arm around the demon's front, clasping his hands together. “Oh come now, you stopped _time_ for me this evening. That wasn't out of love?”

The redhead tilted his head away, a new blush spreading across his cheeks. “You said you'd never speak to me again...”

“That wasn't a threat. It was true. If the world had ended, I _couldn't_ have ever spoken to you.” He kissed the snake tattoo again. “And that thought broke my heart.”

Crowley bit his lip. “...Damn near pulverized mine.”

“I'm so sorry, my dear. I hate to think I've been...pulverizing your heart all these years.”

That raised just the barest hint of a smirk on the other's face. “You didn't know.”

“Yes, I've always been quite stupid.” Aziraphale grinned. “Clever yet stupid, weren't those your words?”

“I might be – maybe – a bit to blame, too. S'not like I ever said anything.”

“Well. _I_ for one am _done_ not saying anything.” The angel pulled back, grasped the other by the shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other again. He cleared his throat. “Anthony J. Crowley, I love you.”

Crowley let his knees lower, his hands falling limply in his lap, ears burning, eyes wet and wide.

Aziraphale continued. “You are a cad, and a layabout. You have only figured out what to do with your hair in the last thirty years and you are in serious need of an interior decorator.” When Crowley's brow began to furrow, he pressed on. “You are also brilliant and kind. You are loyal and stubborn and thoughtful and for these reasons and infinitely more, I love you. Truly.”

The demon blinked, and felt his lower lip quiver before he could bite down on it to stop it. “For _fuck's_ sake!” The words barely made it out before a whole new tide of tears overtook him and he pressed both fists into his eyes in a futile attempt to make them cease.

Concern washed over the other's face. “Did I...did I say something wrong?”

He was answered with a half-hearted punch to the arm. “Idiot,” Crowley hiccuped. “S'not fair...I stood off against Satan today! I stopped time! I don't have the energy to...to keep my shit together anymore and you go and say...” He flailed one hand vaguely. “...all _that.”_ He was wiping at his eyes when suddenly there was a handkerchief being held under his nose. Without thought he took it, soaked it through drying his face only to find that it was miraculously dry again. He let out a tiny, snorting laugh. “Nice.”

“Thought you'd appreciate that.” Aziraphale was smiling again. “Is that why you wanted to distract me with the Scotch earlier? Afraid if I got going, you might follow?”

Crowley nodded, clutching the handkerchief tightly. “Figures I end up a blubbering mess anyway.”

“Actually, I quite like you this way.”

“What? Humiliated?”

“Honest.” The angel glanced down, gaze settling on the long-fingered hand currently propping the demon up and placed his own hand atop it. “You've been keeping your guard up for so long, it's quite wonderful getting a peek behind the wall.”

Crowley tried to scowl, but only managed a weary frown. “Well, don't expect it all the time.”

“Of course not.”

“Not that I'm be trying to be a jackass or anything, it's just, you know...old habits...”

“I understand. I shall try not to take it personally.”

Nerves still raw, but feeling a little less like he was on the verge of another breakdown, Crowley cleared his throat. “Right then. Ok.” He shifted, sitting up a bit straighter, twisting the hand beneath the angel's so he could grip it properly – tightly. “Ok, so, I need you to shut it for a minute cuz I gotta say my bit before I lose my nerve and if you could just, fuck, just don't start crying cuz my eyes are gettin' sore, and, and–”

“I'll do my best.” Aziraphale's eyes were shining, but he held his composure.

“Right.”

They sat in near silence for a long moment, Crowley opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again half a dozen times all while the angel smiled patiently at him. On the seventh failed attempt, Aziraphale started to say, “My dear, you really don't have to force yourse–”

“You're a fop.” The words came in a rush, both of them wide-eyed as the demon finally spoke. “And a fussbudget. And-and-and you get so set on pastries you forget when there's bloody revolutions goin' on! You're absolute shit at stage magic – and at running an actual business. You always stop to smell the roses, and pet every damn cat on the street, even when we're in a hurry. You never fail to see the best in people,” He ran his free hand along the back of his neck, cheeks red, eyes turned away. “Especially when they don't deserve it.”

“Crowley, you deserve–”

“You drive me absolutely _mad_ ,” the demon continued, trying and failing to stop the shy smile tugging at his lips. “And I...I...hang on.” He put a hand up to prevent another interruption, then clenched his fist, took a deep breath and said on the exhale, “I fucking love you. Always have. Always will.” He shut his eyes, unsuccessfully tried to will his heartbeat to slow down, and then allowed himself to at last actually look over at the angel.

Which he instantly regretted.

Because Aziraphale had grabbed the handkerchief and was dabbing at his eyes and just like that the floodgates were open again. “Fuckin' A,” his voice wobbled, cracked. “I thought I told you–”

“I know, I know!” The angel sobbed, waving the fabric at his face as if it were a fan. “I'm so s-s-sorry, I tried not to–”

“No, fuck, no, don't be.” Roughly, Crowley reached out and pulled the other to him, long arms winding around the soft frame, chin resting on one shaking shoulder. “Don't be.” It still managed to surprise him when the angel brought his own arms up to return the embrace, and he clung tighter still to the tweed jacket. “Rather be a mess together anyway.”

That got a little titter out of the blonde, a squeeze around his middle that had his stomach turning end-over-end. “I quite agree. God, I love you.” Then there were lips on his temple, his cheek, and he turned his head to catch the next kiss with his mouth, brain buzzing at the still-new sensation.

“You?” he asked, their foreheads pressed together. _“I_ just wanna crawl inside you and live there forever and–” He stopped, raised his head up.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, whole face flushed pink, “Must you be so crass about–”

“Ah ah!” The demon put a finger to the angel's lips, his gaze far, far away. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.”

“What? What??”

“The the the the thing! The paper! Where's the fucking paper from the witch?” Frantic, Crowley pulled back further, starting to rifle through the angel's too-damn-many pockets.

“H-hang on, hang on, here!” Aziraphale produced it quickly from the breast pocket of his vest. “Why? What on Earth is this about?”

For a moment the demon was still, mouth moving wordlessly as he read and reread Agnes Nutter's final prophesy, and then he smiled, a wide, wicked smile that had the angel just a bit nervous. “I've got it,” he said quietly, then let out a low, indulgent laugh at his own cleverness.

“What _exactly_ have you got?”

Crowley held the paper out, as if Aziraphale hadn't already committed the whole book to memory. “A way out. To make sure it's _over_ over.”

The angel looked from the paper to the demon's face and back again, eyes growing wider. “Oh...oh, yes, that just might work.”

“Ha! It's brilliant, right??” Crowley was beaming, up on his knees, adrenaline coursing through him once again. “C'mon, we should–”

“Ah, actually...” Aziraphale took hold of the other's sleeve. “While I admit I'm _very_ impressed...don't you think it could...wait 'til tomorrow?”

“Hmm?”

Gently, the angel pulled the demon back down next to him on the floor, bringing one hand up to his face again. “It's just that I believe we were rather in the middle of something, hmm?”

Crowley blinked, pupils going wide again, and a smaller, more school-boyish grin crept across his face. “Heh. Right. Sorry.”

“No need.” Aziraphale brought their lips together again. “Though perhaps this interlude is the right time to ask if there might be someplace a bit more comfortable than the floor?”

“S'pose there's the bed.” Crowley ducked his head away. “Too fast?”

“Perhaps.” The blonde nodded, his fingers working their way into the ginger hair of their own accord. “Then again, I am actually exhausted. Think you could be satisfied just, oh, I don't know, kissing me until we fall asleep?”

With a literal snap they were transported to the demon's bed, in coordinating pajamas no less, and Crowley nuzzled his face into the angel's neck. “I'd be satisfied if we did nothing but pass out right now,” he murmured into the warm skin. “But I'll kiss you 'til dawn if you'll let me.”

“I'd rather like that, yes,” Aziraphale sighed, relaxing against the satin sheets.

And while neither of them ever took credit, somehow dawn came some three hours later than it should have.

 

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely @Humanities_Handbag for being my beta on this! You're the best!


End file.
